Mated at Midnight

Jayden's POV

I tore down the street, lungs burning like they were laced with acid, legs jelly-soft but somehow still moving. Fast. Faster. But not fast enough.

They were behind me again.

I could hear them-heavy boots pounding against wet pavement, splashing through puddles, voices sharp and brutal cutting through the night air.

"There! He went left!"

"Don't let him get away!"

Three of them this time. I recognized the one with the buzz cut in a black leather jacket. He always seemed to be there. He looked like he belonged on the cover of some edgy fashion magazine, all chiseled jaw and too much cologne. But hot or not, he was still trying to ruin my life.

Why me? Why always me?

My name is Jayden Hart. I'm twenty-two years old. No parents. No family. No idea who I even really am. I've lived in Nocturne City since I was born-or at least, that's what I assume. I don't have any memories before I was five. That's where everything starts for me. A blank slate before that. No birthdays, no bedtime stories, no baby pictures.

And ever since I turned fifteen, I've been hunted. By men like this. Always different, but somehow... the same. Tall, dressed in black, eyes scanning for me like I was a prize to be caught. And I've never committed a crime. Not one. Never stolen anything, never hurt anyone.

But somehow, I've always been running.

I left home at fifteen. No choice. Every time I went back, they found me. Kicked down doors. Chased me through alleyways. I started crashing in motels. Cheap ones. The kind with flickering lights and weird smells. I changed locations every few days, sometimes I risked a week. This time, I stayed seven days at Bratt Motel.

Mistake.

They found me. Again.

I took a hard left into a narrow alleyway. My shoulder scraped against a brick wall slick with grime and city grease. The stench of piss, rot, and old rain filled my nose. I hurdled over a busted crate and sent a trash can flying in my wake. A loud crash echoed behind me. One of them cursed-good. That bought me seconds. And seconds were everything.

I bolted through the other end of the alley and exploded into a busy street. Horns honked. Pedestrians scattered. A delivery bike swerved and nearly clipped me. I didn't stop running. I dashed across, vanished into the crowd, and turned sharply into another side street, hugging the shadowed corners until I finally found a dip between two buildings.

I pressed my back to the wall, panting like I'd just run a marathon on fire.

Then I peeked.

They were there, searching. Spinning in circles like sharks confused by a blood trail. One of them threw his hands up in frustration. Buzz Cut shouted something into a walkie-talkie. And then... they were gone.

I exhaled. A shaky, relieved breath.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself, tugging my hoodie up and slipping back into the moving crowd.

I hailed a cab by sheer instinct. My brain hadn't caught up yet, but my body moved on autopilot.

"Main city," I told the driver, trying to keep my voice steady.

He glanced at me through the mirror. "You sure? You don't exactly look like-

"Just drive," I cut in, tossing a few crumpled bills onto the seat beside him.

The cab rolled forward. And as the city shifted around me, so did everything else.

I'd never been to the main city. Too expensive, too flashy. Downtown was all I knew-dark alleys, cracked concrete, dusty neon lights flickering over rusted signs. The place where the forgotten lived.

But now... this?

The cab rolled into a different world.

Sleek skyscrapers sliced the sky, shimmering like blades of silver and glass. Roads were smooth black rivers lined with glowing blue lights. Holograms and drones danced through the air like it was nothing. Digital screens wrapped around buildings, flashing vibrant ads and influencer drama in pixel-perfect resolution.

It didn't feel real. It felt like I'd stepped into someone else's life.

I leaned forward, forehead nearly pressed to the window. "Damn," I whispered.

We stopped at a red light. My gaze caught on a billboard the size of a building. It shimmered, transitioned-and suddenly, the word blazed across the screen in white fire:

LUNARIS.

A high-end nightclub. The most elite. The kind only the rich, powerful, and probably criminals could enter. Even back downtown, Lunaris was a fantasy, the kind of place people dreamed of making enough money just to glimpse.

The ad shifted. And then his face appeared.

Zane Ryker.

The man behind it all. The owner or Lunaris. Even his name sounded expensive.

He is known all over Nocturne City. The kind of guy you didn't look at twice unless you wanted trouble-or a job. He had that otherworldly kind of beauty that made you question his existence. Hair like spun gold. Eyes like molten honey with sharp angles. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Deadly.

He looked like he didn't have to say a single word to make people obey. The city probably bowed to him without him lifting a damn finger.

I stared, lips parting. For a moment, I forgot I was broke, hunted, and exhausted. For a second, all I could think was:

How the hell is someone that hot really?

The light turned green. The cab moved on. Reality came crashing back.

We stopped in front of a hotel. It was called Iris. The name shimmered in crystal letters above a sleek revolving door.

I didn't have many choices. No motels in this part of town. And I didn't have the energy to keep running tonight.

Across the street, a warm glow spilled from a café. My stomach growled in betrayal. Right-food. I hadn't eaten all day.

I headed in, ordered a burger and a latte, barely tasted any of it. My thoughts were still half in the alley, half on that damn billboard. I paid with the last of my cash and returned to the hotel.

The receptionist looked me up and down like I didn't belong. She wasn't wrong.

"I need a room," I said, keeping my voice even.

She quoted a price. I transferred the money. Enough for two nights. Barely.

I took the keycard and headed into the elevator, slumping against the back wall.

Then I saw it.

A digital ad played on a panel above the floor buttons. It glowed softly, like a whisper from the universe.

LUNARIS NIGHTCLUB – NOW HIRING WAITSTAFF

$3,000/Month. Accommodation Provided. Apply In-Person.

I blinked.

I stared.

And then I laughed.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered.

The elevator dinged. My floor. I stepped out, still staring at the ad like it might vanish.

For the first time in forever, it felt like maybe... just maybe... fate was finally on my side. A real job. A safe place to sleep. Money. A chance to stop running.

If I could just work for a few months-seven, maybe eight-I'd have enough to finally disappear. Maybe even figure out who I really was. What they wanted from me. Why I was being chased.

And maybe... just maybe... Zane Ryker's name would be enough to keep those men from coming near.

I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The room smelled like expensive linen and citrus.

Tomorrow, I'd walk into Lunaris and apply.

And if I got the job... my life might finally, finally begin.

Because I was tired of running, tired of hiding.

I needed a job. I needed a life.

Jayden's POV

The dreams always started the same.

The sound of wolves. Snarling. Chasing. My feet pounding through the mud as branches whipped past my face. Breath ragged. Heart screaming.

And always-always-I looked back.

Wrong move.

Because that's when I'd see them.

Eyes glowing like coals in a furnace. Men that didn't move like men. Tall, fast, shadows with teeth. Cloaked in darkness, voices like gravel and thunder. Sometimes they'd call my name. Sometimes they didn't need to. I knew they were coming for me.

I always woke up the same way too-choking on my breath, drenched in sweat, ribs tight like something inside me was about to split open.

Tonight was worse.

My skin burned.

Not from the dream, but something deeper. Hot. Crawling. Like I was on fire from the inside out. Like every nerve had turned traitor and decided to riot.

I kicked off the blanket tangled around my legs and I pulled off my hoodie, gasping like I was drowning on dry land.

My skin was flushed. Sensitive. The air itself felt wrong against it. Every inch of my body ached, but not the way pain normally felt. It was deeper than that. Like my muscles were starving for something I couldn't name.

I dragged myself upright, fingers trembling. My entire body shook. My heart was racing like I'd just sprinted five blocks, and I couldn't slow it down.

"Fuck," I whispered.

It was happening again.

The heat.

The first time it hit was two months ago. I'd chalked it up to stress, maybe dehydration or the flu. It passed. Barely. But it came back. Worse each time. Stronger. Hotter.

And the nightmares? They were new. But they felt old. Like memories wearing someone else's face.

Sometimes, I'd wake up with claw marks on my arms. Scratches I didn't remember making. Sometimes I'd smell something in the wind-smoke, pine, ash-and feel like I needed to run or scream or shift. Whatever the hell that meant.

None of it made sense.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the cold water hit me, my skin hissed in response, and it hurt.

"Fuck," I rasped out.

After standing under the shower for a few minutes, I started feeling cold, the heat fading. I turned off the shower and dried my body with a towel. I grabbed a bathrobe and climbed back into bed. I was exhausted. Everytime this happens, it drains me.

As soon as my head hit the pillows, I lost consciousness.

***

I woke up in silk sheets.

Which would've been nice if I hadn't bolted upright with my pulse in my throat and my whole body on fire.

Still there. Still burning.

Worse.

I staggered out of bed, the sheets falling away like water. My skin was flushed. Breathing ragged. Every nerve wired with electricity. Like my bones were vibrating under my skin. Like something was trying to claw its way out.

I barely made it to the mirror in the corner of the bathroom.

The guy staring back looked like hell. Hair a mess, dark circles under my eyes, lips too red, pupils too wide. Sweat clung to every inch of me. My collarbone was flushed pink, like I'd run a marathon in a snowstorm.

This wasn't a fever. This wasn't the flu.

This was wrong.

My hand trembled as I gripped the edge of the sink. I couldn't stop shaking. My body wasn't just hot-it was hungry. Like every inch of me was begging for something I didn't have a name for.

I dragged myself to the shower and stood under it, enduring the pain. I'll be fine. I just need to leave this town, and all this suffering will end.

After spending hours under the shower, the heat was finally replaced with cold. I knew my suffering had ended.

For now.

I stepped out of the bathroom and noticed it was already evening. I quickly dressed and headed to Lunaris.

The full moon hung low and smug in the sky like it knew something I didn't.

Lunaris stood ahead of me like a goddamn temple-sleek glass, sharp edges, and that eerie, bluish glow that made it feel alive. A line of well-dressed people wrapped around the building like they were waiting for salvation. Or damnation. Same thing, really.

I pulled my hoodie tighter, palms sweaty in my jacket pockets. My reflection in the mirrored wall to my left didn't scream "hire me." It screamed "maybe homeless, definitely exhausted," which was not the vibe for the hottest nightclub in Nocturne City. But I wasn't here to blend in. I was here to survive.

And apparently, this was where fate wanted me.

The bouncer didn't even blink. One look at my ID-a fake, but a good one-and he stepped aside like I was on the guest list.

Weird.

The doors opened, and Lunaris swallowed me whole.

Inside was like walking into another universe.

The air shimmered with something thick and unnameable-smoke, pheromones, magic? Who knows. The music hit first: bass-heavy, bone-deep. It vibrated through my chest like a second heartbeat. People danced like their bodies weren't their own. High-end businessmen, influencer types, even a few faces I recognized from local news or tabloids. Suits tailored tighter than my entire life, eyes glowing faintly-some gold, some silver, some deep crimson.

Not all of them were human. I could feel it. And yet... none of them seemed to notice me. Like I was invisible. A shadow at the edge of a dream.

I had heard rumors that we were leaving with some spiritual beings but I refused to believe it but somehow my dreams keep hinting that it might be true after all.

I moved through the crowd, dodging dancers and servers with trays of champagne flutes that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. My stomach growled again. I ignored it. I'd eaten once this week, which was yesterday. That was enough. I had no money too.

My eyes locked on the bar-long, black marble, glowing from underneath like it had a pulse. The bartender looked bored, wiping a glass that was already spotless. Slicked-back hair, piercings, tattoos curling up his neck.

I cleared my throat. "Hey. I'm here for the job. Saw the ad."

He glanced up. Eyes sharp. Not bored anymore.

"You're late," he said. His voice was deep. Smooth, like jazz in an alley.

"I didn't realize there was a time."

He smirked. "There's always a time."

Then he nodded toward the VIP staircase in the back. "Ask for Lucien. He's the manager. If he doesn't like you, you're out."

Simple enough.

I nodded, already walking. Every step felt like a test. My boots echoed off the sleek floors as I made my way up, past velvet ropes and guarded doors. Security didn't stop me. No one asked questions.

The second floor was quieter. Colder. VIP lounges glowed like forbidden fruit behind tinted glass. I caught glimpses-someone licking something red off a crystal rim, another laughing too wide with canines too long.

Definitely not human.

I swallowed hard.

At the end of the hall stood a man in all black. Tall. Graceful. Dressed like he stepped out of a vampire fashion spread. White-blond hair. Piercing silver eyes.

Lucien.

He looked me over, slow and deliberate. Like he was assessing whether I was prey or just trash.

"And you are?" he asked.

I blinked. "My name is Jayden Hart, and I'm here to apply for a job. I saw the ad."

He turned. "Follow me."

Cool. Cryptic.

We moved down another hall, this one darker. Soundproofed. The air got heavier, like it knew we were getting close to something important.

Lucien stopped in front of a tall, double door made of blackened wood. He knocked and stepped in.

"Come in," he said.

So, I went in.

And everything changed.

Zane Ryker wasn't what I expected.

He was worse.

He stood by the window, one hand in the pocket of a sleek black suit, the other holding a glass of something amber. His back was to me, city lights spilling around him like he owned them. No. Like he was the light, and the city just borrowed it.

Then he turned.

And my heart nearly stopped.

I'd seen his face a hundred times-billboards, screens, magazine covers. But nothing prepared me for the real thing. Up close, Zane Ryker was art carved into a man. Sharp cheekbones, a mouth that looked like it had never smiled without a body count, eyes that burned like honey laced with gasoline.

And the moment he looked at me, everything inside me froze.

His nostrils flared. Slight. Subtle. Like an animal catching a scent on the wind.

His pupils dilated.

His grip on the glass tightened, and for a second-just a second-I thought he might shatter it.

"You," he said, voice low and... different. Almost confused. Almost angry.

I blinked. "Me?"

Lucien looked between us. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's new."

Zane didn't answer. He was staring at me like I'd just crawled out of a grave he'd buried a hundred years ago.

Then he stepped closer.

Something primal slithered through the air. It wrapped around me, warm and electric, like static before a storm.

And then-I felt it.

A ripple. A tug. Deep in my chest. Like a string being pulled tight.

My breath caught.

"What the hell," I muttered.

Zane stopped just short of me, so close I could smell his cologne-dark wood, smoke, and something sharp underneath. His eyes scanned me, like he was seeing more than what I was. Like he could see through me.

"You're an omega," he said.

I blinked. "I'm a what?"

Zane's POV

I don't sleep. I haven't in years. The insomniac Alpha. I've been called worse, but none of the labels really bother me anymore. They're all meaningless. My name is Zane Ryker, and the night-my night-belongs to me. When you live as long as I have, you learn that sleep is just a weakness, a necessity of the young, the mortal. I'm neither. I'm an Alpha-three hundred years old, and I've conquered everything I've ever set my eyes on. But sleep, sleep eludes me, just as the last fragments of my humanity do.

The city below me is nothing but a sea of lights, shadows, and meaningless noise. The low hum of Lunaris, my kingdom in the heart of Nocturne City, reverberates through my bones as I sit in my office, overlooking it all. The music, the laughter, the subtle thrill of desperation and pleasure-it's all in my control. I own the night. I own this city. No one dares to challenge me, and those who try? Well, they learn the hard way why I've remained untouchable for centuries.

I stand by the window, with my fingers drumming against the glass of the whiskey tumbler. My wolf is restless tonight. It's the full moon's effect. I can feel it stirring in my chest. It's been dormant for so long, locked away by years of my own will, by the dark shadows of my past. I've buried it beneath layers of control, buried it beneath my human skin. But tonight, the beast is waking. It smells something.

My eyes narrow as I think of the flyer that was delivered to Lunaris earlier this evening. A simple slip of paper, but it sends a ripple through the air as though something ancient and primal has stirred in the depths of the world around me. "The City's Fate," the flyer reads in bold, clean letters, a single cryptic line etched beneath it. "The Prophecy Begins."

A snarl curls in the back of my throat. Prophecies. I've never cared for them. Never needed to. For centuries, I've made my own fate. I decide what happens next, not some ancient scrolls or cryptic whispers of fate. But this... this is different.

I can feel it. The pull. The thread of destiny unraveling in the air, pulling at the very fabric of my being. Something dangerous is coming. And it's going to happen in my city. My territory. I will not allow it.

A knock on the door and then Lucien enters, with another.

Lucien is my beta and has been with me for over three centuries now. We built Lunaris together and before employing anyone, I checked them out to know if they're humans or wolves. I only allowed wolves to work for me.

The scent of something fresh, something unfamiliar, hits my nose then. It's faint, but it's there. Something weak, yet undeniable. My wolf growls, low and warning, instinctively marking the air with territorial dominance.

I turned to face them and I saw the prettiest boy I'd ever laid eyes on in three centuries.

He stood just behind Lucien, small around 5'7, very slim, and a wiry frame that spoke of hunger and hardship, yet there was an ethereal grace to the way he held himself.

His clothes were threadbare-faded jeans, a hoodie two sizes too big-but somehow, he didn't look pitiful. He looked... untouchable. Like moonlight clinging to broken glass.

Then he looked up-and those eyes locked on mine.

Bright blue, sharp and clear. The kind of eyes that could quiet a riot or spark one. Wide, wary, and burning with something raw and unspoken.

My dick twitched.

WTH!!!

I haven't reacted like this to any woman, let alone a man.

Then his scent hit me, he was the one that I was scenting all along but there was something wrong with him. He smelled like a wolf but looked human–too human to be a wolf.

"You..." I started.

"Me?" the boy responded.

Lucien looked between us. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's new."

His voice was as lovely as his face. I can't wait to hear him call my name.

Whoa–pause. Where the hell did that thought come from?

I stepped closer to examine the boy and then it hit me. An omega.

"You're an omega," I said.

"I'm a what?" the boy responded.

Lucien cursed under his breath. "Shit."

It's been centuries since the last omega appeared. They were rare beings in our world unlike the one people talk about in books. They were dangerous.

I clenched my jaw. My voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "You don't know?"

"No?" he said, taking a half-step back. "Look, I just came for a job, not a biology lesson."

I stared a second longer, then turned away sharply.

"You shouldn't be here," I said tightly, his scent was tempting, making me want to hold him there and mate him.

FUCK THE MOON.

"I am here," he shot back. "And if this is some kind of weird interview test-"

"It's not," Lucien cut in smoothly. "You're not supposed to exist."

"Lucien," I growled.

I stared at the boy like he was some ghost dredged up from the past-a relic, a myth, a curse wrapped in porcelain skin and ocean-deep eyes.

His scent still clung to the air, thick and intoxicating. My wolf pushed against my skin, claws scratching at the surface. It wanted out. It wanted him. Every instinct I'd buried centuries ago-the ones I smothered in blood, power, and whiskey-came roaring back like wildfire under my skin.

I hated it.

No-I hated how much I liked it.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Jayden," he started reluctantly. "Jayden Hart."

"Jayden, which pack are you from?" I asked, voice tight, cold.

I needed to anchor myself in logic. Reason. This had to be some kind of trick. No one just walks into my club smelling like prophecy and desire and pretends to be clueless.

He blinked. "Pack?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Yes. Pack. Your Alpha. Your bloodline. Who do you belong to?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, hugging himself. "I don't belong to anyone. I'm not-whatever it is you think I am."

Lucien let out a low whistle. "He's not lying."

I shot him a glare. "Shut up."

Jayden looked like a deer cornered by wolves. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, clearly sensing the tension but not understanding it.

"I grew up downtown," he said quietly. "Bounced around. No family. Nobody ever told me anything about packs or wolves or... or whatever this is. All I know is that I've been on the run since I was a teenager. Men in suits would show up, ask questions, and then bad things would happen."

His voice cracked a little at the end, and my chest squeezed-squeezed, like a goddamn human's.

I exhaled sharply, turning my back to him before I did something irrational. Like scent-mark him in front of Lucien.

Get a grip, Ryker.

"This doesn't make sense," I muttered, pacing. "You can't be an omega. Not now. Not like this."

Jayden let out a nervous laugh. "Trust me, I agree. Whatever that is, you've got the wrong guy. I'm just a broke, desperate nobody looking for a barback gig, okay?"

But the air disagreed with him. The moon disagreed with him.

My wolf snarled, and I clenched my jaw until I tasted blood. "You're not nobody. And you're not just human. Your scent-your existence-is rewriting the room."

Lucien leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes unreadable. "He's triggering the shift in you. You haven't shifted in decades. Not since..." He trailed off, but the silence said enough.

Not since the massacre.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. Wrong move. His scent hit me again-wild and warm and pure temptation. Like lightning bottled in soft skin and defiance.

I turned back to him, slower this time, measured. He flinched slightly.

"I need to see your back," I said.

"What?"

"You heard me." I stepped forward. "Turn around. Now."

"No-why? What are you talking about?" He backed up until he hit the edge of the desk, eyes wide.

"The mark. Omegas are born with a sigil-something ancient, embedded in the skin. It usually stays dormant unless triggered by proximity to a fated Alpha."

He froze. "A what?"

I didn't answer. I stepped closer.

He didn't move away this time. He had no space to.

Slowly, hesitantly, he turned and tugged up the back of his oversized hoodie. My breath caught.

There it was.

Faint, like ink bleeding through paper-an old rune curled low between his shoulder blades. Almost invisible... but glowing faintly in the moonlight slanting through my window.

Real.

Lucien cursed again. "We're fucked."

I said nothing. I just stared.

It wasn't just the mark. It wasn't just the scent or the trembling soul-deep pull between us. It was the marks on his body, the one on his shoulder looked like a new wound.

"Who did this to you?" I asked, my alpha power oozing off.